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spira_rp2018-10-07 05:22 pm
intangibleman) wrote in spira_rp2018-10-07 05:22 pm
Entry tags:
Killers everywhere, it ain't no place to run.
The Desert Palace, all in all, wasn't such a bad place.
Tyki rather liked it. It was almost lively under the near funereal, subdued air. There might have been a fog hanging over everything, the heavy weight of a member missing, but underneath that was a subtle layer of anticipation, a mountain-stream burble of excitement at what the meeting might hold. For those normally resident, the reaction to strangers was mixed. Some approached the situation with their heads held high, giving no indication one way or another how they felt about the sudden intrusion. Others seemed nervous, the unknown quantities enough to frighten them, not that they broadcasted it. For the minions, there seemed to be a novelty to it. It almost seemed to take the edge off the fear the Arrancar were harbouring.
Almost.
Neliel, however, apparently Sosuke Aizen's biggest fan, seemed positively mired in it. There were moments when she came out of herself a little, but it was obvious that he was on her mind. Him, or her precarious position.
The young girl Road had taken to seemed less concerned, but it was possible she didn't understand the gravity of her situation. The short man with the pet Malboro covered whatever worries he had with a bright veneer of smirking sarcasm, but Tyki could practically smell the fear on him. The lanky Tag with the attitude problem didn't give anything away, instead choosing to sneer one-eyed at everybody, teeth grit and bared like an animal caged, as though he didn't care whether he lived or died so long as he got to sink his teeth into somebody. It was possible this was the case, but Tyki had rarely seen somebody who didn't care when it came down to it. Perhaps he'd get to see his real feelings on the matter after the meeting's conclusion. That might be fun.
The others hadn't presented themselves for inspection.
Tyki found himself enjoying it all. Road was keeping an eye on things, doing her best impression of a precocious young girl there under Tyki's watchful eye, but the reverse was probably more true. She knew more than he did, about everything. It was her who told him what would become of the Arrancar if things went south, her who told him about the members he had never heard of, who he'd never bothered to read the backgrounds of. He simply watched and enjoyed.
What had surprised him was that the majority of the members present and, indeed, those expected, were natives of their own floating continent, and not Ivalice. Some of the residents were certainly lowerworlders, but all of the visitors seemed to come from Niflheim, Lucis or the Jyllandi Union. Was it merely a trip for them, a chance for the to size each other up on neutral ground, with Aizen's imprisonment serving as little more than window dressing? That was possible. None of the had any real personal investment in the man, nor his continued safety, or that of his underlings. He suspected Kreeth was simply there for the holiday.
There hadn't been any newcomers for a few days. The last had been the two from the Union and before those, the Lucian envoys, apparent nobodies there in the stead of somebody important. It was probably fortunate the absent lowerworlders didn't send the same in their places, or the palace would run the risk of being standing room only, with underlings turfed out of their rooms to house the temporarily higher-ranked dogs of members. Road said they were still waiting on a woman from Reseune, a town that bordered the two major halves of the Niflheim Empire, and some mid-tier noble from Nagapur who Road, all full of childlike delight, was expecting to kick off at some point during her stay.
There had been some arrivals last night, but they'd come in without fanfare, or announcement. They felt familiar, so Tyki assumed they were residential minions, gone and returned. He'd soon find out, anyway. He'd left his hat and cane in his room, but still made sure to dress nicely. His white side wasn't welcome in such a place, and the black was far, far classier. He found himself gravitating to the kitchen without effort and he was almost surprised how quick such a thing had happened. Perhaps that was how the palace got you.
He pushed open the door.
"Good morning," he said.
Tyki rather liked it. It was almost lively under the near funereal, subdued air. There might have been a fog hanging over everything, the heavy weight of a member missing, but underneath that was a subtle layer of anticipation, a mountain-stream burble of excitement at what the meeting might hold. For those normally resident, the reaction to strangers was mixed. Some approached the situation with their heads held high, giving no indication one way or another how they felt about the sudden intrusion. Others seemed nervous, the unknown quantities enough to frighten them, not that they broadcasted it. For the minions, there seemed to be a novelty to it. It almost seemed to take the edge off the fear the Arrancar were harbouring.
Almost.
Neliel, however, apparently Sosuke Aizen's biggest fan, seemed positively mired in it. There were moments when she came out of herself a little, but it was obvious that he was on her mind. Him, or her precarious position.
The young girl Road had taken to seemed less concerned, but it was possible she didn't understand the gravity of her situation. The short man with the pet Malboro covered whatever worries he had with a bright veneer of smirking sarcasm, but Tyki could practically smell the fear on him. The lanky Tag with the attitude problem didn't give anything away, instead choosing to sneer one-eyed at everybody, teeth grit and bared like an animal caged, as though he didn't care whether he lived or died so long as he got to sink his teeth into somebody. It was possible this was the case, but Tyki had rarely seen somebody who didn't care when it came down to it. Perhaps he'd get to see his real feelings on the matter after the meeting's conclusion. That might be fun.
The others hadn't presented themselves for inspection.
Tyki found himself enjoying it all. Road was keeping an eye on things, doing her best impression of a precocious young girl there under Tyki's watchful eye, but the reverse was probably more true. She knew more than he did, about everything. It was her who told him what would become of the Arrancar if things went south, her who told him about the members he had never heard of, who he'd never bothered to read the backgrounds of. He simply watched and enjoyed.
What had surprised him was that the majority of the members present and, indeed, those expected, were natives of their own floating continent, and not Ivalice. Some of the residents were certainly lowerworlders, but all of the visitors seemed to come from Niflheim, Lucis or the Jyllandi Union. Was it merely a trip for them, a chance for the to size each other up on neutral ground, with Aizen's imprisonment serving as little more than window dressing? That was possible. None of the had any real personal investment in the man, nor his continued safety, or that of his underlings. He suspected Kreeth was simply there for the holiday.
There hadn't been any newcomers for a few days. The last had been the two from the Union and before those, the Lucian envoys, apparent nobodies there in the stead of somebody important. It was probably fortunate the absent lowerworlders didn't send the same in their places, or the palace would run the risk of being standing room only, with underlings turfed out of their rooms to house the temporarily higher-ranked dogs of members. Road said they were still waiting on a woman from Reseune, a town that bordered the two major halves of the Niflheim Empire, and some mid-tier noble from Nagapur who Road, all full of childlike delight, was expecting to kick off at some point during her stay.
There had been some arrivals last night, but they'd come in without fanfare, or announcement. They felt familiar, so Tyki assumed they were residential minions, gone and returned. He'd soon find out, anyway. He'd left his hat and cane in his room, but still made sure to dress nicely. His white side wasn't welcome in such a place, and the black was far, far classier. He found himself gravitating to the kitchen without effort and he was almost surprised how quick such a thing had happened. Perhaps that was how the palace got you.
He pushed open the door.
"Good morning," he said.
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A simple croque madame should suffice. Nothing too complicated to make, and nothing too time consuming, either.
"An unforgivable oversight on the part of my gender that I intend to correct forthwith," Ignis replied over his shoulder, flashing Nel that same smile.
He began by turning the oven on so it could warm, and turning the burner on beneath the frying pan while he retrieved the ingredients from the fridge.
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"Does nobody else cook here?" Tyki asked, stepping around Ignis to get to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. He wasn't in the mood for spending time waiting for a kettle to boil, not with Ignis commandeering the space.
He pulled out a chair and sat at the table, his back to the door. He didn't need to see who came through it. Short of that white-haired Selkie Tag, he'd feel the coming before they reached the door.
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Although in a much more enjoyable way.
"Only when they have to," Nel answered, turning her attention back to Tyki. "It's easier if I do it, because no one ever mentions that we're running short on something until it's already gone, and everyone thinks the fairies restock the cupboards while they sleep."
It was why she had permission to leave the Palace when required to do the grocery shopping. The one time they'd run out of tea had been enough to prompt some higher ups, particularly Aizen, to sign off on a responsible underling doing the supply runs even without him there to authorise it each time.
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It sizzled, throwing up the smell of toasting bread and frying butter.
He did the same with the other two, and then let them rest in the heat and cook.
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The food, he had to admit, smelled nice, even if it was being cooked by the envoy of a political enemy. Tyki wasn't particularly picky when it came to food. He'd eat anything. He'd sampled a sausage-inna-bun from a fellow named C.M.O.T Dibbler during his trip to Ankh-Morpork and hadn't rated that as the worst thing he'd ever eaten and he'd bet his boots that less than half of what had comprised the sausage had been meat. This could be worse and he'd still eat it, though it didn't seem likely. Not when he was giving the same to Nel.
"Must be like having a houseful of children," he said, with what he hoped was a knowing look, on account of his travelling companion. Road wasn't all she seemed, but her appearance was certainly helpful sometimes. "Speaking of, who was it who arrived late last night?"
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They were not, on reflection, a poor facsimile. For better or worse.
"Children," she answered, with a nod and a smile. "Some of the other Arrancar," she explained. They were Kadaj's friends, for the most part, but she didn't want to do identifying them as that just in case one or the other of them caused trouble. "No doubt you'll meet them once they crawl out of their respective pits."
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All he had to do then was put them in the oven to stay warm while he cooked the eggs.
So, he thought, there were more Arrancar in the building. Aizen had certainly accrued a lot of them, hadn't he? Their reiatsu was familiar to the place; they'd clearly been here for some time. Perhaps regular forays out into the wider world was the norm for them, and the Palace merely acted as a base.
What did they do out there? It wouldn't exactly be prudent to ask, not at this stage, anyway.
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"Where's your companion this morning?" Tyki asked of Ignis, slipping easily into what Ignis would no doubt consider heavily accented Jyllandi. Speaking his native tongue, Tyki sounded very common, more so than Road, who spoke like a slightly posh Überwald girl. "Getting a lie in?"
He carefully kept the question casual, not wanting it to come across as a threat, or a veiled observation that he was without his bodyguard, here, in a room with a Noah. All vulnerable.
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"By now I expect he's working out and performing his morning ablutions," Ignis replied, his Jyllandi coming in a cut-glass Insomnian accent. He'd always sounded more like the King than Noct ever had. "What of yours?" he asked, glancing at Tyki over his shoulder. "Homework, perhaps?"
He removed the sandwiches from the pan, and placed them directly in the oven to keep warm. "How do you like your eggs?" he asked, in Ivalician. He didn't pause as he added some more butter to the pan and swirled it around to melt.
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A shame about the conversation in Jyllandi that she couldn't follow. "I do hope you boys aren't fighting," she said, looking at Tyki, and then at Ignis's back, and then back to Tyki because he was free to look at her. She'd hate to have to knock any heads together over breakfast.
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Nel's words made him turn back to her, and he did his best to adopt an innocent facade, though it didn't come easy to him. It was a little like trying to make a racoon not look like a small furry burglar, but he tried.
"Of course not," Tyki said, not bothering to add in a touch of offended dignity. That would have been too much. "This is the first time I've been down here, I have to admit, the Ivalician language doesn't come easy to me."
That wasn't entirely a lie. He'd been given lessons since being taken in by the Earl, and while he'd done very well, it still took a small amount of concentration to translate it all in his head.
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On the other hand, it was entirely possible that whatever words were transpiring between them were actually macho posturing that they didn't want the lady in the room to overhear. In that case, it wouldn't be any different from Grimmjow and Yylfordt talking in Al Bhed.
"I suppose," she said, giving Tyki the benefit of the doubt.
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"It is," he admitted, "a little difficult to converse in a second language at all times." He flashed Nel a glance, and his best charming smile. "Sadly, Jyllandi isn't as commonly spoken here as Ivalician is on Jylland."
He eased the spatula under the first egg and flipped it carefully, before he retrieved the first sandwich from the oven and plated it, ready.
"I expect I'm a little difficult to follow in Jyllandi regardless," he added, as he removed the egg from the pan and settled it on top of the sandwich. "Lucian Jyllandi is more formal than our friend's Uberwaldean dialect."
He flashed Tyki a swift glance as he turned, and settled the first plate in front of Nel, slipping back into Jyllandi to tell her, "Enjoy," with as subdued a flourish as he could bring himself to give.
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He wasn't wrong, though. Ignis's dialect was strange to Überwaldean ears. The accent was weird and some of the word choices were off, though the same could be said of his to them, and no doubt Integra and her dog. The Überwald dialect was considered a relic of parts of his own country, with the more modern Union Jyllandi being spoken in Ueltham, home of their capital.
"I learned late," he admitted. He watched Ignis present the meal with a smile. Not even he could deny that Nel's breakfast looked, and smelled, rather good. "That means 'enjoy'," he clarified.
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Old... style. Doubtless Tyki meant fashioned. He knew Gladio would likely agree on that note. His highness, too, if he was asked.
He turned back to prepare Tyki's egg, and resisted the voice that pointed out how easily he could tamper with the meal. Ignis was above such tactics, however offended he might be.
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"I intend to, thank you," she said. She put her knife through the yolk and into the bread below. The bread was crisp, and the yolk ran down in the trail of her knife.
"For what it's worth," she said, as she sliced her breakfast in half, "you do both speak Standard extremely well."
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Ignis was clearly well-educated. He was there as an envoy, so he wasn't stupid. He wasn't just a minion, he was likely trained to deal with people, so he wasn't going to show his hand, or act up in front of other members, especially not him. It must have been a wrench to cook for him, but politeness came first.
"Ivalician seems as varied as Jyllandi, at least," he added. Could it be described as standard, if that was the case? Nnoitra spoke differently to Nel, who sounded entirely different to either of the member Selkies he'd met. Perhaps it could, by those who considered their language the norm, and anything other as 'nonstandard'. "I'm glad my accent hasn't carried over too much. It's considered quite ... rough."
Ignis would no doubt attest to that.
"Have you ever considered learning?" He asked of Nel, suddenly aware of a presence approaching the door to the kitchen.
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They'd got back late from their trip out. They'd stayed out longer than they needed to after wrangling the Aizen brats, just to keep the assholes, herself included, away from any visiting members of the Clan. Szayel was their primary concern, according to Nel. Grimmow and Yylfordt's egotistical macho nonsense was a secondary one.
She'd gone straight to bed, exhausted from the effort of putting up with Szayel without throwing him bodily from the Ragnarok into the desert, or the sea. She didn't, however, sleep particularly well, not with all the new reiatsus in the palace, so when she'd woken she'd showered, and dressed, and headed to the kitchen for some coffee.
There were two strangers in there, but she was tired, and she didn't care if it was a grouchy behemoth so long as it didn't get in the way of the kettle. She didn't fancy a grouchy behemoth's chances against Nel, anyway, and she could feel her there as well.
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"I think I'm a little old to be picking up new languages now," she told Tyki, giving him a slightly self conscious smile.
She cut off the first piece of breakfast and took a bite. Immediately she groaned, and looked at Ignis, making sure to chew, and swallow, before she said, "This is beautiful."
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Nel's reaction drew a smile from him. "Thank you," he said, wearing a genuine, slightly flattered smile. That reaction was what he enjoyed the most about cooking. The act was therapeutic, but the reactions were his favourite part. It was the only role he had where the looks on people's faces assured him of a job well done with such consistency.
Someone else was approaching the kitchen. Ignis hadn't encountered this person before, although the reiatsu was familiar enough to the Palace's background noise that he could hazard a guess at it being one of the returning Arrancar.
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He cut into it, letting the egg's yolk ooze over the sandwich, and brought it to his mouth with a fork. He'd debated eating it like a normal sandwich, with his fingers, but if Nel was using cutlery, it was probably better if he didn't drip egg and sandwich filling everywhere. It wouldn't do to shatter the illusion of his gentlemanly nature for nothing.
He tried it, and, while he didn't groan like Nel did, his yellow eyes did light up a touch.
"This is delicious," he said, in Jyllandi, talking around the food, instead of after it.
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"Morning," she said, flatly.
And then she took in the newcomers a little more. One of them was... grey. The one who had spoken, in fact. There was only one clan that she could think of that had skin of that colour, and the strong Überwald accent just filled in her suspicions as to what, if not who, he was. A Noah, at a guess. A member of the Kamelot family, one of the many weird Mist-altered families in Niflheim, those who had been handing down their mutations for so long they were considered bloodline limits, rather than imperfections. They didn't need to wear... she scowled, trying to ignore the thought. They were pretty high up in the noble set, well known enough, but she didn't now how much beyond the borders of Niflheim. She knew, because her hometown was just across the border.
The other guy... just looked like a Hyur. A standard, brown-haired Hyur. Could be anyone.
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"You're welcome," he replied, in Jyllandi, and tried not to look too smug about it.
He turned his attention to the newcomer as she entered. "Good morning," he replied, in Ivalician.
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"Did you get back all right?" She didn't, for example, throw Szayel overboard when they were several thousand feet in the air, or, say, strap him to the Ragnarok's nose and have Yylfordt fly at maximum speed through a field of micropurvamae.
It had probably been tempting.
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The one with the glasses responded in Jyllandi, so either he was from there too, or he was the kind of over-achiever that had taught himself to say a small number of sentences in other languages to impress.
"Everyone else is asleep, I think," she sat herself in a chair and yawned. "And no, we didn't kill Szayel."
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